


The Nine Times I Hoped For You And The One Time I Didn't

by elevensie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, I never write in English this is a first, Vancouver Canucks, this isnt even a fic it has like 1k words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 15:44:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1352905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevensie/pseuds/elevensie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Eddie's first day in Vancouver. And he /really/ wants to make new friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nine Times I Hoped For You And The One Time I Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the people who said they would read this, no matter how terrible my writing in English must be. Also, this is in no way an accurate representation of reality. Hopefully they didn't actually let Eddie carry all of his gear by himself.

“ _You go and make some new friends, Eddie, alright?_ ” he whispered to himself as his body collided with the tall glass door, remembering the soft words his mother had said to him when he was only a child. She had kissed him on both cheeks, leaving the pale vermillion shape of her lips drawn on his face, encouraging him to enter the locker room full of lousy children. This time his skin was painted with nothing but light hairs and a few blemishes and the children seemed taller. Way taller.

His bag felt just as heavy as it did sixteen years ago, the rough fabric brushing against his skin to the rhythm of his steps. Just for a moment, he wished he could skate free of all protection, no matter how dangerous, so at least he wouldn’t have to carry this horribly heavy uniform _everywhere he went._

He was first greeted with the droopy red eyes of players who clearly had the same number of tequila shots as the opposing team had on their net the night before. They each mumbled a weak _Hi_ , trying to dismiss his pleading looks. They waved him off quickly, rushing into a corridor, probably trying to avoid any further conversation.

Eddie hesitated. Part of his being want to run after them to introduce himself the way his mother had told him to ( _the way he had practiced so many times in his mind during his long hours on the plane to Vancouver)_. The other part had no other desire but to escape this crowded building and hide in the woods, where he would build a shelter with his goalie pads and avoid all human contact for the rest of his life.

He had never been so terrified of approaching strangers in his entire existence.

All around him were hobbling staff members, players, trainers and other workers, all sharing that unpleasant scent of sweat and energy drinks. He recognized some somewhat familiar laughter lines and furrowed brows from magazines and sport channels. His heart was racing so fast he almost regretted not wearing his shoulder pads to keep it from jumping right out of his chest.

“Smile but not too wide. Present your hand to shake theirs, but not too firmly. Maybe crack a joke but only if the mood is appropriate. And no puns. _Never_ _use puns on the first day_.” A teenager carrying water bottles strolled by. _Easy one_. He’s just a kid. Kids are nice and caring and they usually laugh at puns, no matter how terrible they are. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to ask for directions, for a smile, for anything.

He turned his eyes to the ground, glaring at the carpet. Perhaps, if he wished for it long enough, he could blend into the grubby blue texture and disappear. But where would he even go? Going back to Sweden would mean going back to the life he had worked so hard to avoid, it meant admitting his dream in to be a goaltender in the NHL was nothing but stupid, irresponsible, and unrealistic. Chicago, on the other hand, meant more waiting next to a phone that never rang, more painful sparks of hope in his stomach burning his insides every time he was let down. But at least, in those two places, he had friends.

He trudged silently to the closest bench, so he could rest his arms and legs. In front of him, he counted each and every stranger, promising himself he would accost one of them. One. A boy with funky shoelaces he would probably trip on in the following minutes. Two. A lady with a radiant but brittle smile, carrying six Tim Horton’s mugs in a not so skillful way. Three. A man wearing a white tank top out of which popped out wild raven hairs. Four. Five. Six. Children holdings hands, skipping their way to the elevator. Followed by seven, a lady giving them a long, weary sigh and… Eight, her husband, patting her back, in all likelihood, realizing this night would be grueling. Nine. A journalist with a shaggy salt and pepper beard, scribbling on a notepad while loudly shouting at his Bluetooth ear piece about trade rumors and “ _Not those fucking Bruins again!_ ”. Ten.

He raised from his seat. Ten. He smacked his head against something, someone. Ten. A wide bright grin. Ten.

-          _“You need directions, big guy?”_

Ten. A Canucks jersey, worn over basketball shorts, with the number 1 on each arm. Ten.

-           “ _Unless you’re not the Swedish goalie. I’ve been looking for one. Long legs, vampire teeth, dishwater blonde hair. You do look a lot like that guy.”_ He pointed to the small rectangle screen of his phone where Eddie’s picture appeared. “ _I wouldn’t say you have dishwater hair, though. More like sparkling amber. Or a light ash champagne.”_

Words were rushing inside Eddie’s mind, piling on top of each other like confused pieces of multiple puzzles. He couldn’t assemble them together to form a sentence nor even babble a foolish mixture of _Hello!_ and _Thank god!_

-          _“Vanilla malt, actually. My hair.”_ Eddie jested.

He burst into uncontrollable nervous giggles and his face turned a bright shade of pink as he attempted to hide his childish grin behind the back of his hand.

-          “ _You even got the vampire teeth! You’re my guy! And you’re funny too, eh? I have a feeling we’re going to be best buds. I’m Roberto.”_

Would it sound weirdly obsessive to reply with _I know_? Should he engage a hug or attempt to shake his hand? Which hand? Would it be galling to express his dissatisfaction about the weather in British Columbia? Perhaps, a simple _Hell yeah, bro!_ would be more appropriate. There was a serious lack of “How To Introduce Yourself to A Star Goaltender Who Also Happens To Be Part Of Your New Goalie Tandem Without Sounding Like A Complete Idiot” manuals in this world.

-           “ _You know what? All I could think of on my way here was ‘Do you think he’ll mind it if I call him E-Diddy’?_ ”

-          “ _Oh no! I like it!_ ”

Roberto punched the air and cackled. He gestured towards the shoulder strap of Eddie’s bag, offering to help him carry it, insisting that it would be terrible if he ‘ _broke his back on the first day_.’ His steps instantaneously appeared a lot lighter. The man wrapped his arm around the European’s neck, his other one holding on tightly to the blue bag.

-          “ _C’mon E-Diddy, I’ll introduce you to the guys. You’ll see everybody’s really nice. Not as nice as me, though.”_

Eddie’s face beamed as the man noogied him playfully, leading him to the locker room. His mother’s soft voice echoed in his mind: “ _You go and make some new friends, Eddie, alright?_ ”. “ _I already did, mom_.” He muttered through his teeth. _“I already did."_

 


End file.
